


Waiting for the World

by mrsbarlow



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M, New Year's Eve, New Years Resolutions, just fluff absolute fluff, lists & gel pens & auld lang syne
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22057213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrsbarlow/pseuds/mrsbarlow
Summary: It is on this couch with this book and this whiskey, in a pair of navy plaid pajamas, that Kyle is sitting 43 minutes before the New Year when William Nylander shows up at his door.“William?” Kyle says it like a question, looks down at his pajama pants. “Um, what are you—”“You’re good at lists, right?” William interrupts, already pushing past Kyle and into the house.“I—what?”“Lists,” William repeats. He pulls off his scarf—which probably cost something absurd like six hundred dollars—and drapes it over the back of the couch. "Because I think I'm having a crisis."
Relationships: Kyle Dubas/William Nylander
Comments: 17
Kudos: 136





	Waiting for the World

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mozartspiano](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozartspiano/gifts), [the3ofchalices](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the3ofchalices/gifts).

> Happy new year to S & AS & anyone else reading this!!! This is just tooth-rotting fluff, Willy being dramatic, and Kyle being a flustered mess, but I hope you enjoy it anyhow. 
> 
> Title from Blue Rodeo's "Waiting for the World" a truly perfect new years song.

Like any logical person, Kyle happens to think that New Years Eve is highly overrated. It’s hangovers and freezing rain every goddamn year, the desperate need for some kind of celebration to break through the post-Christmas depression, and the truly nauseating wave of existential dread that hits at exactly 12:03am.

It is possible that Kyle is a bit of a cynic, sure. It is also possible that he is a bit of a cynic because he had a few too many lonely New Years at his grandparents as a child and a few too many bad New Years parties in universities. But Kyle is also practical, and he knows the benefits of a good night’s sleep, knows that there isn’t really any special difference between 11:59 and 12:00am on one day more than any other. He loves the comfort of his own couch and new book from his sister for Christmas, a bottle of scotch he’s been working his way through slowly, and frankly, Kyle enjoys the quiet, doesn’t find it lonely even one bit.

It is on this couch with this book and this whiskey, in a pair of navy plaid pajamas, that Kyle is sitting 43 minutes before the New Year when William Nylander shows up at his door.

“William?” Kyle says it like a question, looks down at his pajama pants and blushes. “Um, what are you—”

“You’re good at lists, right?” William interrupts, already pushing past Kyle and into the house.

“I—what?”

“Lists,” William repeats. He pulls off his scarf—which probably cost something absurd like six hundred dollars—and drapes it over the back of the couch. “You’re organized. You seem like the kind of person who would make a lot of lists.”

“Well, um.” Kyle very pointedly does not look at the box of note paper sitting on the table by the window, perfect for list-making. “Yes, sure, I find lists a good way to stay organized and on top of work, but what are you—”

“Great,” William throws himself down onto the couch. He wiggles his toes until they are tucked under a blanket, flops his head around trying to get comfy. “Because I think I’m having a crisis.”

Which, okay. Kyle thinks he might be having a crisis himself, or maybe several. Mostly that William is here in his house, lying on his couch on New Years Eve with 41 minutes to midnight, and he is wearing a ridiculous sweater with a teddy bear on it, hugging one of Kyle’s pillows like a puppy.

Kyle blinks and clears his throat. “A crisis. A list crisis?”

“A New Years crisis.”

Well, Kyle can relate to that. “I see. And, um, how can I help you with that?” Kyle winces a little at how business-like his voice sounds, but in his defense, he isn’t sure whether or not this is a business meeting. It’s hard to tell with William, who generally enjoys flopping on couches and wailing about some crisis or other even in the most serious and professional of situations and venues.

William rolls his eyes like Kyle isn’t keeping up. “Lists, duh.”

“Oh sure. Duh.”

William sighs and seems to sink further into the couch. Kyle moves his glass and sits awkwardly at the edge of the coffee table. It all feels like a bizarre therapy session for which Kyle is most definitely not qualified.

“You’re going to have to back up a bit here, Will, because I’m not fully connecting the dots on what the crisis is here.”

William lets out a huffy little breath and looks Kyle very seriously in the eye. “Okay, so, before the game tonight JT was telling me about his New Years resolutions. Spend more time in nature, go bike riding with Jace, eat more kale or whatever. Boring. But then he asked what mine were and I said I’ve never tried them. I mean, how was I supposed to know this was a thing? I’m from Sweden, you know?”

Kyle frowns. “I don’t think resolutions are exclusive to—you know what? Never mind. Doesn’t matter. Keep talking.”

“Right so I was all like ‘nah I don’t have goals because I don’t try them’, like life goals, I mean, because JT said hockey resolutions don’t count. Why does your face look like that?”

Kyle doesn’t know how to tell him that he’s still reeling from ‘I don’t have goals because I don’t try them’, so he forces his expression into his Serious Listening Look and shakes his head, wordless.

“Okay well, then JT got that weird concerned look he gets—you know the one, the really serious one, more serious than normal, kind of like your face right now actually. He was so quiet and just kept frowning and it was, like, really weird, I mean I’m used to people staring at me? Because I’m gorgeous? But this was not that, so it was weird.”

“Mhm, sure, yeah.” 

“Yeah, you get it. So I told him I was kidding and that I just hadn’t made my list yet. But I wasn’t lying, Kyle, and I don’t even know where to begin my list. And I thought, well who knows how to make a good list? Who likes goals and resolutions and stuff? And then I thought of you with your glasses and your spreadsheets and it was like oh duh, _of course_.”

“Of course,” Kyle echoes. “I don’t know if that was meant to be a compliment or not but I’ll take it.”

“So will you help me?”

“Make a list of New years resolutions? Which you’ve never done before?”

“Yes.”

“I…Why? I mean, no offense, but…are you even going to follow them.”

This time William frowns. It’s a weirdly serious look for him. “Huh. I guess that would be the point, right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

He considers this and eight seconds later the frown vanishes. He wriggles up into a sitting position, cross-legged like a little pretzel. “Well. It could be like a game. A dare.”

Kyle laughs before he can’t stop himself, it just slips out and he claps a hand over his mouth too late. It covers his smile at least. William beams back at him.

“You are very competitive,” Kyle agrees. “It might be a good strategy.”

“Mmm strategy, yeah now you’re on board.” He wiggles his eyebrows and Kyle feels the need to leave the room for a minute. In his own home.

“We could sit at the table? There might be more space.”

William wrinkles his nose. “But it’s much cozier here. Don’t you have a like clipboard or something?”

Kyle does, indeed, have a clipboard. He grabs it from the desk and passes it to William. Hands him several notepads as well.

“Oooh do you have one those fancy yellow ones that lawyers write on in tv shows? Like _The Good Wife_?”

Kyle blinks at him for a moment and then reaches into the desk for his stack of legal pads.

“Very sexy, Kyle, I feel very good about this decision.”

“The business industry really is another world to you, huh?”

“What use do I have for fancy paper, Kyle? I don’t need to write things down I have an agent for that.”

Kyle rolls his eyes and grabs a pen and paper of his own, sits down next to William on the couch. It feels careful, tentative.

“Why aren’t you at a party or something? Wasn’t Mitch having a thing tonight? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to have the company but this isn’t really the most riveting of New Years activities by, like, most people’s standards.”

William shrugs. “I’m used to quiet holidays. You know, from moving around a lot as a kid. We were never in any place very long. We usually travelled around holidays anyway.”

“No party invites for young William? I always pictured you as the popular jock not the loner kid on the playground.”

William smirks. “Put a lot of thought into that theory, huh?”

Which, okay, so now Kyle kind of wants to die. “Uhhh—”

William laughs, it’s loud and warm, fills the entire living room. He nudges Kyle playfully with his shoulder. “I’m messing with you. Of course I was invited to parties, I mean, Kyle, really.” He gestures to himself. Kyle raises an eyebrow, because, well really, _the sweater_.

“I just like the quiet sometimes, and Mitch was trying to make Jello pucks and have Auston shoot them into his mouth with a mini stick when I left so. I don’t think I’m missing out on too much anyway.”

“I wish you hadn’t told me that,” Kyle groans.

“Don’t worry, Kyle, _I _would _never _have someone shoot tequila spiked jello shots into my mouth with a mini stick.”

“Very reassuring.”

“What’s your excuse? Why are you home alone on New Years Eve?”

Kyle makes a brief scoffing sound. “Well when you get to be my age you—”

“Oh my god,” William interrupts, rolling his eyes. “You’re not even old.”

“Well, maybe I prefer the quiet, too.”

It’s a brief moment of quiet, just a small second, but it feels much longer as William looks at him carefully. Then he laughs and says, “This is depressing as hell. Where’s the rest of that whiskey you were drinking? I think we’re going to need it.”

There’s 33 minutes to midnight. Kyle grabs the bottle of whiskey from the cupboard above the fridge and couple of glasses. William scrolls through his phone and puts on the weirdest version of Auld Lang Syne that Kyle has ever heard, complete with bagpipes and a children’s choir. Kyle drags a couple of extra blankets out of the hall closet and brings over a plate of starting-to-go-stale Christmas cookies that his grandmother sent back with him.

“Oooh snickerdoodles,” William says, grabbing four off the plate and inhaling them like a vacuum cleaner. Kyle snorts a laugh as he pours them both a drink. There’s a faint dusting of sugar and cinnamon above William’s upper lip, and Kyle is hit with a sudden overwhelming urge to lick it off. He spills some of the whiskey on the coffee table.

“So,” William says grandly, wiggling a little under the mountain of blankets so that his knee is touching Kyle’s. “What’s the secret? How do you make the perfect list?”

“A really nice pen.”

“Huh. You’re a nerd, Kyle.”

“Thank you.”

“These are all boring pens. All black and blue. Where are the gel pens? I want a purple one.”

“I…don’t have any gel pens?”

“Why not? Gel pens are the best. One year for Christmas, Alex got me on one of those big spinning gel pen holders with like a hundred of them, and they were all sparkly. Great gift. Everyone should have a gel pen collection.”

“I’ll make that my first 2020 resolution, how’s that. Gel pen collection.”

“Shit, that’s a good one. Now I need one. Ummmmm. I already have gel pens.”

Kyle bits his tongue hard to keep himself from laughing at William’s puzzled expression, clearly thinking hard. He looks a bit like a first grader: brows all scrunched, pen jammed against his chin, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth. His hair is all flopped in his face. Kyle wants to brush it aside. He holds his boring, blue, non-glittery pen a little tighter instead.

“Don’t think so big,” Kyle suggests. “Start with things you already know. What was good about this year that you want to keep for next year? Favourite things. Anything.”

William’s brow unfurrows and his expression brightens. “Oh! I have lots of good things. Hockey, the donut place near my apartment, my family, my big closet.”

“Family’s a good one. You talk to them a lot, right?”

William nods. “Try to. Alex most, sometimes every day. My parents and sisters are harder, with the time difference and my sisters in school. Would be nice to talk to them more though.”

“There you go, number one. Call home more often. Write it down, bud.”

There’s 17 minutes to midnight and the whiskey is disappearing faster than Kyle can keep track. Mostly because William is drinking it like it’s apple juice and Kyle’s competitive side is barking at him to keep up. There’s a warm, hazy glow about the living room now. William’s bubbling laugher gets louder and more intoxicating until Kyle’s cheeks hurts from grinning so much. Their lists are half-filled with messy writing and ink smears, crossed out lines and a smudgy patch in the top corner of Kyle’s page where William starting playing tic-tac-toe with himself while Kyle got more cookies.

“Just hear me out,” Kyle says, loud from the whiskey. “We live in a consumerist society, right?”

“You buy books,” William points out.

“Use the library more!! It’s on my list, William, number three! Right there. See it?”

“Uh huh, I see it.”

“I’m just saying. I know you love scarves, but.”

“I do love scarves. I would love to see you in a scarf. You would look lovely in a scarf, Kyle. A soft blue.”

“Nonononono,” Kyle protests, waving a hand around lazily. “Don’t flatter me when I’m trying to make a point here. You’re distracting me.”

William pulls off his own dark blue scarf and wraps it around Kyle, tugging gently on the ends and pulling him closer. He waggles his eyebrows. A giggle slips free from Kyle’s lips. Kyle does not giggle. Except apparently, he does. “Is it working?” William teases.

“Ummm.” _Yes. _“No! Capitalism. Consumerism. The textile industry is absolutely _rife _with violations of labour laws and human rights polices, William. Not to mention the environment, good god, that Winnie the Pooh sweater is killing our planet. Australia is on fire, did you know that?”

“Okay, first of all, it’s very obviously Paddington, didn’t you see the movie? Second, I research my clothes very seriously, Kyle. I don’t just click the add to cart button on everything I see. My wardrobe is clearly catered to a very specific aesthetic.”

“You—” Kyle frowns. “Research? Your clothes?”

“I know how google works, Kyle, I’m not the one who’s practically a baby boomer.”

Kyle sits up so fast his glasses slump forward all crooked. “How dare you.”

“Practically. Almost,” William whispers, and he reaches out, sets Kyle’s glasses gently back in place. His fingers brush Kyle’s jaw as he pulls away. It’s the second moment of the night where there’s a brief pause in time. Kyle is sure that if he checked his watch right now, the hands would have stopped moving, frozen in a brief little glitch of swirling snow and the music in the background and William’s hand drops back into his lap, but his blue, blue eyes stay watching Kyle.

“Um,” Kyle says, at the same time that William says, “Your glasses are smudgy.”

“Lost the cleaner,” Kyle laughs nervously. “Turns out a t-shirt doesn’t work so well after all.”

“A good quality t-shirt would.”

“Sustainable clothing. Multi-purpose.”

“Resolution number 4.” William scribbles away at his notepad and Kyle pretends to scribble on his own, sneakily peeking at the way William’s hair curls just slightly as it hangs over his cheekbone, his incredibly long, blonde eyelashes.

It’s all just a little too real right then.

“Fuck New Years resolutions.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud. William looks up him in surprise.

“You just made an entire list of them?”

“They’re dumb,” Kyle mutters, drains his whiskey and sets the glass down on the table. “They’re just a big list of like, grand gestures and broad, vague commitments. No one even follows them, you know? We tell ourselves we’re going to be all brave and new and take risks this year and then as soon as the opportunity’s there we just. Don’t.”

William is watching Kyle the way he was watching earlier. Eyes soft and studious, looking close and deep, sneaking right underneath Kyle’s skin.

“None of the things on your list sound all that risky. They all seem pretty real and manageable to me.”

Kyle looks down at his list. William is right. In its current state, the yellow paper reads:

  1. Call gramma dubie more often
  2. No more single use plastic
  3. Libraries!!!!!
  4. Shop local
  5. Read a book a week

“Unless you’re missing one,” William continues, oh so very casually. “Unless there’s something else you’re thinking about that’s not on your list.”

“Like what,” Kyle asks, oh so very carefully.

William shrugs. “Well. New Years is usually a time when people make big life choices. Like they buy plane tickets or decide to move, switch jobs, relationship stuff, you know. Things like that. Risky things.”

“Trying to get rid of me, huh? I like my job just fine.” Kyle tries for a joking tone, but he just sounds hopelessly nervous, verging on pain.

William starts folding the corners of a scrap piece of paper. It takes Kyle a second to realize it’s a cootie catcher. And that’s just. They’re so completely different, opposites in almost every way. But here they are, on Kyle’s couch, with 6 minutes to midnight, tiptoeing around an idea that was firmly shut away in a drawer and looked as if it might for a little bit longer until William showed up at the door.

“You know,” William hums, scribbling little notes under the flaps. “People always think big moves and risks are scary and like, doomed or something. Which is dumb, because then no one would take them and no one would ever get anywhere. It’s like hockey, right? People always talk about risky moves and bad hits, but those aren’t risky they’re just dangerous. Everyone knows it they just pretend not to. They actual risks are the plays. Yeah maybe it’ll backfire sometimes, but you can’t win if you don’t play the puck. You just get benched.”

“So what’s your New Years risk?”

William grins. “I asked you first.”

Kyle hesitates. William scribbles some more and fiddles with the paper.

“Alright,” Kyle says, more to himself than to William. “Wait here.”

He goes to the bedroom and rifles through his desk, pulls out another legal pad and brings it back to the couch. He drops it lightly into William’s lap. William picks it up and frowns.

“You sick old bastard. You already made a New Years resolutions list!”

“Just read it,” Kyle mumbles, hand pressed firmly against his mouth to stop him from saying something entirely stupid or ripping the notepaper back. William doesn’t read the list out loud, but Kyle knows exactly what it says:

  1. Call grandma and sisters more often (at least once a week)
  2. Cut out single use plastic
  3. Shop local (farmer’s markets in the summer)
  4. Work with more organizations towards diversifying the NHL
  5. Read 52 books, one a week
  6. Use the library more often
  7. Tell William you have feelings for him

Kyle can tell when William reaches the seventh point on the list from the way his eyes widen, and for a brief moment of horrible, icy, stomach churning panic, he thinks he’s made a huge mistake, that he’s misread the situation completely, and he’s about to start the New Year in the worst way possible. But then William smiles, smiles so big it stretches all the way to his eyes, crinkled around the edges.

“I knew it,” William says in a hushed voice. “I knew it wasn’t just me.”

“Yeah,” Kyle manages, voice hoarse from relief. He feels like he’s just been saved from drowning. Everything’s a little off balance, but steadily coming back into focus. “Not just you.”

It’s two minutes to midnight and William is sitting beside him, knees touching, on the couch in the warm lamp light with snow falling softly outside. Their lists are abandoned on the coffee table. Kyle’s stomach feels bubbly and bright, his fingertips itching with electricity. William beams at him, leans in a little bit close. The tip of his nose is a little bit pink.

“Pick a number,” William says softly.

Kyle laughs at the poorly folded cootie catcher held between them. “Three.”

_One, two, three. _

One minute to midnight.

“Pick a colour.”

“Blue.”

William peels open flap. Kyle squints to read the words scrawled in Williams tiny, loopy handwriting.

_Can I kiss you at midnight? _

“Oh my god,” Kyle blushes. “I feel like a nerdy second grader picking dandelions at recess.”

“I do look very beautiful in a dandelion crown,” William says, pressing their noses together.

It is midnight and a New Year, and when William kisses Kyle it is gentle and warm and soft, and doesn’t feel scary or risky at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Willy's resolutions list looks something like this:  
1\. Call home more often  
2\. Read 3 books (Kyle says 5)  
3\. Stop cancelling gym days with kappy!!!!! Go to gym days with kappy!!!  
4\. Sustainable clothing brands (google definition of sustainability??)  
5\. Go for walks  
6\. Tell Kyle you like him & think he's sexy
> 
> I yell about hockey [here](https://gabithagrumbles.tumblr.com/)


End file.
